


Extraordinary things happen when people sleep

by Azbiel



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: AU, Bittersweet, Cheesy, F/M, Missing Scenes, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 04:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16110413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azbiel/pseuds/Azbiel
Summary: title | Extraordinary things happen when people sleepchapter | 1/1rating | PGcharacters/pairings | Angle/Buffysummary | time holds him perfectly still at sixteen. He was 253 and she was 25.notes | This is set up post season 7.Also thank to Buffy Sunnydale for her wonderful editing skills she did a great job! I am giving up and posting this story no matter how horribly cheesy I think it is. Quotes by William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream





	Extraordinary things happen when people sleep

“Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.”

Angel feels the silk smooth under his thumb as he holds the black tie a little too gently, trying not to wrinkle it. An exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he thinks, If only years of inexperience in tying a tie was my biggest problem. He looks up from the soft texture in his hand and finds a door. It almost seems ironic in a way. He feels too large in the tux and the dress shoes feel out of place in this small room with a mirror that reflects everything but him. He stares at the door, determined and exasperated, and it feels nostalgic. The door and him: it really is how it all began.

“Buffy, please come out,” he says, and thinks back to the beginning of all this.

“There is no way I am coming out with this hair. You will appreciate it later.”

***  
The dark surrounded him and wouldn’t let him go, and in his bruised bloody hands he held a tattered, dirty picture. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and centered-in on it. The blonde in the picture has an easy smile and looks perfectly happy; eyes bright, and time holds him perfectly still at sixteen. He was 253 and she was 25.

He gave up, folding the picture cautiously and tucked it away in his pocket. He looked at the door and the night was so dark that the door blended in. His knock echoed against nothingness and his chest tightened. If he could breathe, he would have felt like he was holding his breath, but instead he just felt tight and nervous. His ears picked up the sound of laughter, making him gulp and step back. Then there was light meeting his eyes and all he could focus on was how intensely green her eyes were when they met his, and how she looked just as vulnerable now as she did in that picture. Angel held her, not caring if she was cookie dough or even just grains, and he knew, as he placed his forehead against hers, that giving in would lead to... this harmony.

****  
Angel paces back and forth nervously, unable to find a place to settle. He is 256 now, and he shouldn’t be this nervous, but she won’t come out and it’s making him jittery. He can feel the sun go down in downtown London and he wishes he had breath to catch and ground himself to the earth, because the vertigo is not passing. Every footstep in front of the next just makes it worse, so he just focuses on tying his tie.

“I don’t understand why you have to be in a whole other room? I think maybe we should hurry. I think we’re running late.”

“Because it’s tradition, and we will make it.” Her voice comes across the door and he can hear her moving around, taking minutes away before she enters his life in a whole new way. Time...he doesn’t mind thinking about time anymore, but he is pretty sure she does. But this isn’t about that. She will be 30 in a few years, and then 80, and then eventually she’ll die, and he just wants to know that this was theirs: their decision, their choice; to spend minutes, hours, and years belonging to each other. He made the choice to accept her mortality but what hurts him more is his own immortality. He stops and his eyesight meets the door, and he settles. She settles him.

****  
“Do you want tea?” He asked, sitting with his own cup and flipping the page on A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

“Old habits die hard,” she said. Her hair was tousled and her face had no makeup, which made him smile. He pointed to the coffee cup. She lights up, taking it with grateful hands.  
“You know me so well.” She whispered into his cheek.

“Giles called. We need to be there for the meeting so we can take patrol afterwards,” Angel said.  
Sitting at the other side of the table, Buffy nods, picking up the morning paper. For a second they are just any other couple on any other morning performing their morning routine. For a second he feels the normalcy and he soaks it up willingly.

“And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.  
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste.”

 

****  
The door opens and she is there; golden hair against her shoulders and white dress meeting it. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks nervous as she twirls her fingers nervously. It makes the time worth it, because it’s all is worth it, and he is so secure of that fact and quite amazed at how unafraid he is of it.

“You look beautiful.” It just comes out. He hadn’t planned it, but he can hear the sigh of relief as he steps and takes her hand.

“You think? I only had so much to work with.” She sounds insecure and won’t look him in the eye, so he kisses her lips till she calms against his finger tips. Pulling back, he finds her eyes blissfully closed. The moment comes where it’s just Angel and Buffy: her wearing a more simple dress than all her teenage daydreams, and him wearing this suit that he wouldn’t allow himself think about for as long as he has known her. “Here. Let me.” She takes his tie and makes it look easy. As she adjusts it, he tries hard to stop himself from squirming nervously.

“You sure you don’t even want to tell Dawn?” He whispers out his fear as she runs her hands through his tie.

“I am sure,” she says with a nod. Her voice confirms it. “They wouldn’t get it.”

****  
“Let’s get married,” he said one night as they walk the cemetery. It made him stop in his tracks, amazed he got the words out.

“What?” She stopped too, and looked at him like he just told her Willow went straight again.

“I want to marry you,” he said, meeting her eyes. “One day you are going to die, Buffy, but before you do... marry me?” He expected her to lose it. To argue with him about how it’s irrational and how they have been living together for 3 years now and what would be the point.

“Gee, you really know how to get a girl to say yes,” she says sarcastically, but her voice is chuckling. “Telling a girl she will eventually meet her mortal death really makes popping the question so much more romantic.” She moved closer to him and tentatively took his large hand. “Yes. Not because I am going to die someday. But because I want to live with you and around you for the rest of my life.” She smiled. He smiled back, and his eyes filled with happiness. The night sky seems brighter as her golden locks were soft against his fingers and her lips met with his own promise.

****  
“You ready for this?” she asks. He nods, not being able to form words.  
“I love you.”  
“I love you.” Her eyes meet his. “You have to promise not to cry at my vows. I know how you get sentimental, ya big lug.”

“I’ll do my best.” He smiles and allows himself to marinate in the feeling that she creates in him--that normalcy. He’ll never really get used to it, but he has learned to recognize it and it dwell in it for as long as he can. He wants to dwell in her for as long as he can... that’s the purpose of tonight.

“Let’s go get hitched!” He hears the excitement in her voice and his smile widens, feeling the excitement himself. “Buffy Summers, thank you for agreeing to be my wife.” Her eyes shine at the last word.

That night, in the small town of Faversham, England, it began to rain and Buffy became Angel’s wife. The feeling of normalcy passed for Angel and it became an extraordinary night. For the first time, he welcomed extraordinary into his life with no qualms whatsoever.

“A proper man, as one shall see in a summer’s day.”


End file.
